Dark Horses
by TheSheTiger
Summary: More than 50 years has passed since Cooger & Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show left for good, but what has become of its merry-go-round that was abandoned? It's been rediscovered, and Green Town is about to uncover a long-forgotten horror.
1. Chapter 1

(This is going to be a sequel to Ray Bradbury's ' _Something Wicked This Way Comes_ '. Set in the present day, some 50+ years since the demise of _Cooger and Dark's Pandemonium Shadow Show_ , it will mainly focus on the carousel in that story. It will more closely follow the description in the book, but may sometimes borrow from the film version when suitable. As should be obvious, I own nothing belonging to the original story- only my own characters and original story line.)

The new building certainly looked impressive. First, it was huge, even for what it was intended for. And second, the style was anything but modern. The materials and the way it was constructed was something straight out of the late nineteenth century. One just didn't see this kind of craftsmanship much anymore, primarily because there was little demand for it. Certainly there was nothing else quite like it in Green Town, Illinois. Not any more, anyway. Oh, the town had its fair share of older houses and buildings, brick and mortar, wood and stone. But the old had promptly given way to new in the past four, five decades just as it had in many other such places all over America. And ironically enough, this time the old had been replaced with something that looked old, but was actually brand new.

It was a perfect blend of wood and brick, mortar and steel, and despite the old-fashioned look and feel, it was completely up-to-date inside. It had to be, in order to protect the monstrous "treasure" it held inside- and that item was indeed old.

Karen Swanson walked up and admired the building. This was the first time since its completion she'd seen it. She'd visited the construction site as often as her schedule allowed, but between her regular job as a real estate agent and her busy volunteer work during the restoration, it wasn't all that much. Karen was eager to see how her- and the other restorers'- work had paid off. It had been a labor of love, lasting a little more than three years, which actually was very quick for the scale of work that normally would need to be done.

The old carousel had been discovered in a weed-infested field that was county property but sat unused for decades. The last use that area had seen was when it was utilized by a traveling carnival several decades ago, and for whatever reason they had abandoned their carousel when they left town. Perhaps it was because it didn't work any more, for its control box and machinery had been smashed. But that made little sense: if it was an act of vandalism, the vandals would have damaged more than just the controls; yet the ride was in nearly pristine condition other than some worn paint and dull brass here and there. And surely the carnival people wouldn't destroy the mechanism to one of their own rides, even if they planned on abandoning it for whatever reason? There was simply no logical reason to do so. Unless...unless there was some danger posed by this ride, and whoever had smashed its controls did so in hopes of preventing another accident. Maybe someone had gotten hurt? Killed, even?

It wasn't as strange as it sounded. Merry-go-rounds, as benign as they may seem, have in fact been one of the most dangerous amusement rides in history. More people have been injured on them than on roller coasters and other thrill rides. This is mainly due to people letting their guard down. Also because many years ago, carousels rarely had safety features such as seat belts to keep riders from falling off (especially when reaching for the brass ring), and rules were much more lax. Patrons were often allowed to stand or walk around on the platform while it was in motion, and might get injured by a wooden hoof or head on a "jumping" horse if they didn't watch out. Sometimes riders would goof off, sitting backwards in the saddle, or putting their feet on their horses' heads. There were even horror stories of workers being dragged into the machinery of moving carousels as well. Who knows what the backstory on this one might be?

It may have been a long time ago, but there were still those who knew, those who remembered. And some of them reveled in it while others reviled it. And once again, their worlds would collide.


	2. Chapter 2

Inside the locked building, something stirred. Not an animal, but not quite human either. It had no form at the moment, yet had the ability to take one on at will. Right now it was like smoke, and it trailed along in black wisps, curling itself around the structure of the carousel: its sweeps, rounding boards, poles and machinery in a weird and creepy sort of caress, until finally slipping easily into the hollow body of one of the wooden steeds and hiding there, as it had for years. It knew he would be coming back, and when he did it would be waiting for him. It had, after all, waited for him for all these years. It knew his heart, for it almost had it at one time. But he had somehow evaded it, just frustratingly out of reach. There would be a next time, and next time he wouldn't escape so easily. He couldn't, for it was his destiny! He was needed, plain and simple.

Karen walked around outside, but the shadowy thing ignored her. She was insignificant, like an insect. Oh yes, she and her group had been instrumental at dismantling and restoring the aging merry-go-round, relocating it at the very heart of Green Town, and even overseeing the design and creation of this amazing building to house it in. For that, the presence was grateful. And also highly amused. Imagine those silly, foolish people! Many of them were the offspring of the very ones that the carnival had preyed upon just a few years before! Mortals were so simple, and so forgetful. Just give them what they want and they will eat out of your hand as you lead them to slaughter!

While it was true that things certainly hadn't turned out as planned, what with the carnival essentially having been destroyed, it wasn't too late to start over. And the carousel, which had miraculously survived, albeit damaged, was just the tool needed to begin again. Smoke and mirrors...

_

Karen finally left the scene without going inside the building. That would come later. Right now, tempted as she was to take a peek at the finished product, she really just wanted to get out and clear her head for a while. Do something different. Maybe go for a drive in the country. It was the perfect day for it too, pleasantly warm, blue skies, sunshine. And being a Sunday morning, hopefully the traffic wouldn't be too crazy.

She got into her sedan and backed out of the parking space, and onto the open road. At the moment, she had no particular plan, no particular destination in mind. It was just a great day for a drive. Instead of turning on the AC, she rolled down her window. The feeling of the air billowing through the car, sending her hair flying, was something she hadn't felt in a long time. It made her feel free, and young again. She decided to simply go wherever the roads took her, not to plan any of it. Joyride, road trip, day trip, whatever you wanted to call it. Maybe she would find some good yard sales along the route. Or she could go along that one road, past the dairy farms to the antique shops located in old barns. She'd always wanted to go into them, but never had. Today would be the perfect opportunity. But first, why not make a stop along the way? To another place that had caught her eye a few times before, another place that she'd been wanting to go but had never found the time. Today at last she had the time, for all of it, so she might as well take advantage.


	3. Chapter 3

Karen pulled into the parking lot of a small, white-painted church on the outskirts of town that she had seen several times when driving home this route from grocery shopping. Karen wasn't a church-goer, normally, although she had fond memories of going with her mother when she was a very young child. There was just something so quaint about this particular one, and it had been so long, what could be the harm in stopping in for a visit? Just this one time, most likely. Just once.

Even though the church itself was small, the lot was full of vehicles. Sunday Morning service was already underway and they either had a special speaker or event today, or a pretty active membership judging from her difficulty in finding a parking space. As she stepped out of her car, Karen could hear the strains of an old hymn as the song service was winding down. She knew instinctively that there was nothing contemporary about this church- not the songs, nor anything else. It was as traditional as Mom and apple pie, and permanently residing in the distant past. Not that it was a bad thing, necessarily. Karen admittedly never did like the loud rock and hip-hop music she could hear pouring out from the much larger church at the end of her own block during their various services. It wasn't that she judged people based on their preferred styles of, or tastes in, music- it was just that to her, some forms of music that might be fine to jam to in the car or while jogging just didn't seem to belong in a formal worship service. It was her opinion, and she was entitled to it.

Karen slowly opened the door to the building. They were still singing, so she was reasonably sure that her sudden entrance wouldn't be noticed much. She was correct. Only two or three heads turned her way as she entered. They nodded and smiled, and she smiled back and took a seat on a pew in the very back. So they still used pews in this church, not chairs like most now did. Yep, traditional all the way.

As she looked around, Karen saw that the building was mostly full, and mostly full of older people. This did not surprise her in the least. What did surprise her was that scattered amongst the old faces were several younger ones, including children and teens. Most of them were probably family members of many of the elders. Grown children. Grandchildren. Great-grandchildren. Nieces and nephews.

The song service was now over, and a man in a grey suit ambled forward and delivered several announcements, mostly about upcoming services and topics of discussion. He also read a list of birthdays for the week, which came to a grand total of two. After he finished and left, another man, looking quite elderly and frail, stepped up to the pulpit. He too was wearing a suit, this one a navy blue, and his thinning hair was snow-white. But he had piercing eyes and a stern look. Karen figured he must either be the pastor, or a guest evangelist. (She also came to the conclusion that they must have already passed around the collection plate, probably while singing.) Whoever he was, it was clear that this was one of those stereotypical "fire-and-brimstone" preachers.

She was dead-on right. He took hold of the pulpit with each hand, glared over his captive audience, and immediately began his sermon in a tone that sounded like he was scolding a naughty child. He punctuated his words with finger-shaking his congregation and occasionally pounding his fist on the pulpit.

"The Scriptures say that in the last days, men will be lovers of pleasures," he shouted. Several people grunted in agreement. "Does this not describe our world today? Full of pleasures! That's why you don't see many people going to church any more, because they are out busily pursuing their own pleasure! Instead, they are out shopping, or dancing, or drinking! They're at the theater. They're at the skate rink. But they won't come to church, oh no!" A few mumbled 'Amen' and 'Preach it', but most were silent. Karen wondered, What about the ones who had to be at work? Not everyone skipped church for selfish reasons.

The man bellowed on. "We see this tendency everywhere these days. Take for example this... _merry-go-round_..." He spat the word with contempt. "This merry-go-round that has the town all in a twitter. All the money spent on it, fixing it up, and constructing a fancy new building to house it in...in right in the the middle of our once peaceful city park! Utter waste! Utter sinful _foolishness_!" He pounded again on the pulpit. "Don't let me hear of any of you patronizing that place. It is the Devil's work, I'm telling you! They try to tell us that it's 'art' and 'an important piece of history that should be saved', and that it will be for 'the good of the community'. Nonsense! It's a stinking _carnival_ ride! Carnivals and their merry-go-rounds, and all their other rides and amusement devices and contraptions and gambling are all a part of the world, the flesh, and the devil! That devil-machine doesn't need to be preserved, it needs to be destroyed!" Karen gasped, stunned by his words, but the sound was blotted out by several men in the congregation who exclaimed in agreement with their pastor. "That's right!" "Amen, brother!" "Preach it!"

"I don't care what anyone says about it, I'm telling you that that merry-go-round is evil! Mothers! Fathers! Grandparents! Do not be seduced into complacency and take your precious children to ride on it. They will be corrupted! Do not allow its devilish tunes stir your spiritual heart to flesh and corrupt it! Stay away! Even if it's free, do not go near it! I know what I'm talking about..." he trailed off, "For I have seen it with my own eyes and was once under its spell. But by the Lord's grace, I escaped...before it could change me and draw me in forever..."

The sermon ended just like that, abruptly. The frail-looking pastor (who still had a punch!) looked even more haggard now, as he was clearly remembering something from his youth that he found very disturbing. The congregation murmured a little and then, sensing that the service was over, got up one by one and filed out the door. Karen too got up, puzzled by the sermon. She glanced back at the preacher, who was still bent over the pulpit, staring blankly the way people do when they are in another zone.

She got back in her car and followed the line of vehicles out of the lot and back onto the road. It was then that she noticed the sign. Until this moment, Karen hadn't realized that she had never seen the name of the church before. But there it was, right next to the driveway that led to the parking lot: Amazing Grace Church. Non-Denominational- Come as you are, Everyone Welcome! Services Sun. Mornings 9:00 Sun. Eve. 7:00 Wed. Eve. 7:00 Healing Service Mon. Eve. 5:00 Rev. William Halloway, Pastor.


	4. Chapter 4

Bill Bradley, the carousel historian, walked slowly around the massive machine that stood idle before him, in the darkened abyss of the cave-like building that engulfed it. He had requested that the lights not be switched on just yet, even though it made it difficult to see much. He wanted to get a feel for it, to "sense its presence", as he had put it, without the distraction of light. To him, a carousel was not just another amusement ride, it was an entity with a soul: each one unique. The best way he could explain what he meant to someone else was to compare carousels to ships. "You know how every ship has a name, a unique identity, that is its own? That's how I feel about a carousel. Each one should have its own unique name, one that sets it apart from all others. For example, the El Dorado and the Chanticleer carousels from the old Coney Island. And there used to be a carousel at the Seattle Center several years ago that they called the 'Coffee Grinder', that was sadly sold piecemeal at auction. And I believe I read once that the Philadelphia Toboggan Company gave names, not just numbers, to many of their machines as well."

He walked slowly around it with Karen, who was beaming with pride in spite of the recent dreadful experience at that church, and asked, "So what should this one be named?"

"I can't really tell you that," Bill replied, "at least not yet. I'm not even sure I have any right to do so. That should be up to the maker or the owner."

Karen decided that she would just be quiet and let Bill do his thing, which was hopefully to help identify the carousel's origin. As much as she and the other people involved in its restoration and installation loved their work, none of them really knew very much about carousels or their history. That was why their group had sought out Bill and his expertise. If anyone knew carousels, it was Bill Bradley.

Continuing to walk around it in silence, Karen stopped only when Bill did, as his eyes fixed upon a single horse on the outside row. He whistled softly as he admired the bursting, pent-up energy of the wooden animal. It seemed to be straining at the bit, its mane wild, and eyes frenzied. "What an exquisite work of art this is!" Bill exclaimed. "See how its nose points into the air, as if it's looking skyward? In carousel terms this is known as a stargazer. It's a popular and common pose." He came in closer to study the workmanship of the animal.

"Look at the musculature and the veining on this thing. It almost looks alive." He reached out and placed his hand on the smooth painted flank. As he made contact with it, he felt an odd tingle run through his palm and fingertips. Almost like a static shock, but stronger. It startled him, but he said nothing to Karen.

Then he moved on to the row behind this horse. Another steed, teeth bared and with flaring nostrils, greeted them. Next to it, in the middle row, was what he first mistook for a dog but soon realized was a wolf. And not a friendly wolf, either. Its lips were curled in a snarl and it had a ferocity to it like nothing he'd encountered before in his years of studying carousel art. Even the small inside row horse next to it appeared wary of it.

Moving on again, the next row behind featured a dragon on the outside. Bill had seen other carousel dragons, but not like this one. Often they were half sea-creature, with a fish-like tail, but this one was all dragon. And like the wolf, it had nothing to offer in the way of kindness. Its open mouth was full of sharp teeth (and they really were sharp!) and it had a long, forked tongue like a serpent's that curled around to the right side of its face. Every scale was clearly defined, and even the talons on its feet were so real he almost imagined that they could shred him.

Karen couldn't stand it any longer and finally had to ask. "Well, what is your verdict on what we have here?"

Bill cleared his throat and said, "You know, I'm actually stumped. In all my years, I've never seen anything quite like this. I've studied carousels and carousel art from all over the world for more than thirty years, and I know every major manufacturer as well as many of the minor ones. This one doesn't match any of them.

"The style looks American, yet not entirely. There is a passing resemblance to some of the Mexican carvings I've seen, sort of like the work of Ortega or Flores, but not exactly. The animals- all of them- have a ferocity to them that I've never seen before in American companies' work, but some of the Mexican ones come close. But Mexican carousel figures are small, bulky, and usually somewhat primitive in construction and trappings. These carvings are magnificent! Whoever made these was a real craftsman, and an artist, and had access to the finest woods and tools of that time period.

"And I have such a hard time with the notion that this ride had belonged to a carnival. Carnival rides have to be small enough to be transported and easy to take down and put up. This carousel is what we in the industry refer to as a "permanent location" fixture, as opposed to a "portable" style. Difficult and time-consuming to disassemble and reassemble. And the carving quality..." He stepped back over to the dragon and pointed at its delicately thin, curling tongue and the "hair" that made sort of a beard on its chin. "That kind of thing right there just wouldn't normally survive the rigors of a traveling carnival. That's why most of the figures on portable machines are fairly small, without much decoration or thin parts that can be easily worn off or broken. Horses' ears, for example, were often carved right into the mane rather than sticking up where they would be vulnerable to breakage." He ran his fingers over the dragon's scales, and just as when he had touched the horse, he felt the same strange electric tingle pulsating in their tips, and still he chose to ignore it. "These scales, for example, would likely show signs of wear with all the thousands of riders that must have climbed all over it as it traveled with a carnival through the decades. I'm sure that this dragon must have been a very popular figure with riders!"

Bill stepped back to view the carousel at a slight distance, and Karen did the same. He crossed his arms and admired it for a minute or two, then said, "Well, let's see how it looks all lit up." Karen smiled and went over to the controls. She flipped a switch and what must have been hundreds of small bulbs popped on and glowed...dimly.

"Oh, I do hate these new LED bulbs! They never seem to be as bright as the traditional kind." Bill mused.

"Uh, they aren't LED's," said Karen, "They're the originals. Or at least 'original' as far as they're what came with the ride. We don't know their age, but they're old. And yet not one is broken, missing, or even burned out!"

Bill looked incredulous. But upon closer inspection, even though the bulbs appeared frosted, he could see the shadow of the filaments inside. When lit, they cast a strange yellowish light. He was amazed at how dark the carousel still looked even after the lights were on. Then he realized that all of the figures, as well as the various panels, rounding boards, paintings, and other parts were all painted in dark colors. Not just black, but shades of browns and greys, and some dark muted reds and greens. It was anything but cheerful, nothing like a carousel should be.

"Please don't misunderstand me, I think it's wonderful how your group has saved and restored this treasure," he said, "But why is everything so...bleak? Hardly any bright colors...well, none actually. It's kind of depressing."

Karen whispered, even though no one else other than Bill was around to hear, as though she had a big secret to hide. "I know. It's awful. We tried to change it, but the carousel wouldn't let us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we attempted to remove the old paint. We used paint stripper and other methods. It wouldn't come off! When that failed, we tried to paint over it, even though none of us liked that idea. The paint we applied just...kind of melted off. Wouldn't dry. Wouldn't stick. And yet, every place where we needed to do touch up work on worn or chipped spots, such as ear tips or saddles, it worked just fine as long as we matched the same colors. But try to brighten it up, or change it to a different color, and it was a no-go."

Not knowing what to make of Karen's statement, Bill simply began inspecting the machine and its figures again, this time being able to see more detail. He noticed that nearly every animal, whether horse or wolf or dragon or whatever species, had grotesque, demonic creatures or faces peering savagely out from under the backs of the saddles. Many of them were carved as though they were taunting or mocking any would-be riders. And unbeknownst to Karen or Bill, they were not alone in the building. Something else was in there with them, hiding, listening to every word. And it smiled to itself.


	5. Chapter 5

Someone stood nearby waiting until the others had gone. Hiding in the shadows, he watched as the lights were extinguished and the great wooden doors closed and locked. Deja vu, he thought. All over again. Oh, it was risky of course, but he had to see it. Had to see with his own eyes. Could it be? Could it really be? It had been a part of him, once, so very long ago. It had made him who he was. And now, after all this time- all these many, many years- it was back, or so he'd heard and read. He just had to see for himself!

When he was certain that the coast was clear, he crept out of the shadows and fumbled in his pocket. The key! He was glad now that he had it made, to exact specifications. It took just a moment, but it worked! Opening the lock made a little more noise than he'd expected, but after freezing for several seconds and realizing that no one was nearby close enough to hear, he breathed a sigh of relief and slowly opened the creaking door, then made sure to carefully close it behind him. Then he turned to face what he had come to look at.

He stood before it, hardly daring to believe his good fortune. Yes...yes! It was the same one. He walked around, studying every silent animal until he found the familiar plum-dusk stallion. The very one he'd ridden so many decades before, and hoped it would turn the clock forward and make him older. Now, he was an old man. But if luck was with him, that would all change very soon. Very, very soon! He stepped up onto the platform which creaked under his weight and touched the carved horse's smooth, painted neck. The electric tingle went through his hand, but it did not startle him, for he recognized it. He smiled. He grinned. You still have it, he thought. You still have the power!

As quickly as his old legs would allow, he made his way through the obstacle course of wooden animals and brass poles, to the middle machinery. He'd never done it before, never made it run, but he tried to remember how he saw Mr. Dark do it. Make it go backwards. He tinkered with some levers and push-buttons, and the ancient machine sputtered, creaked and groaned, and with the familiar sound of jangling reins, it slowly began coming back to life after too long a slumber. It started up the normal, forward way, but he tinkered some more and managed to reverse the gears. Slowly at first, and then gaining momentum, it begun to spin backwards. With a whoop and a swift grab onto a passing pole, he jumped aboard the platform and made his way back to the plum-dusk stallion. Placing his left foot into the metal stirrup, Jim Nightshade swung his old body into the familiar saddle once again and hoped that the magic would melt away the years just as it had before. He didn't seem to remember that the last time he dared to ride, it almost killed him. Or perhaps he did remember, but didn't care.

Around and around, backward. The organ was silent; he hadn't dared to turn that on. Too much noise- too much chance he'd be caught. Besides, it wasn't necessary. Jim stared at his mount's upturned head, wondering how many times he'd gone around. Not enough, clearly. The stallion's open mouth seemed to be screaming in silent agony at its rider's vanity. How many times, Jim thought. He wasn't feeling any younger. But maybe he wouldn't feel any different, not yet. He had to be getting younger, he just had to! It had to be working! Jim was beginning to get annoyed and bored. Nothing seemed to be happening, not yet. Round and round, backward. Going nowhere in reverse. 20? 30? 40 times? Jim watched the building swirling as he passed, a slight wave of nausea overtaking him. No! He thought. I'm not giving up! It has to work! He looked up, hoping that would calm his stomach. He studied the cranks above his head that gave his horse, and the others in its row, their up and down motion. He glanced at the fine details on the inside of the rounding boards. Then...he looked at the center housing panels and noticed his reflection in a mirror.

"Damn!" Jim cursed. "Dammit! It's not working!"

The face that stared back at him from the carousel's center mirrors was not that of the young boy he'd expected to see, but the same old face he'd been used to seeing for too many years now. Old. Man.

With a roar of frustration and anger Jim jumped down from surging stallion and tottered unsteadily toward the center of the ride again. Because it was moving at top speed, he nearly lost his balance- but he didn't. As he stepped down off the platform, Jim thought he saw a smoke-like shape, similar to a shadow but with more substance, emerge somewhere from within the whirling gears, cogs, and spinning flywheels. Curiosity overtook his anger and he drew nearer, but was still hesitant. The shape materialized before him. Jim's eyes grew wide with wonder. No! It couldn't be! So many years had passed...and beside all that, Jim had seen what had happened. He was dead. It couldn't be him!

But it was. Or at least, it looked like him.

Jim spoke, softly, barely daring to be audible. Fear and amazement clutched his stomach.

"Mr. Dark? Is it...really you?"


	6. Chapter 6

The lines in the Pai-Loe Grocery was fairly long, so Karen Swanson welcomed the chance to gab with the tall woman in front of her, while they both waited to check out. It was the other woman who started the conversation. Just idle chat at first, the usual stuff about the weather and her grand-kids, that sort of thing. She seemed friendly enough, which encouraged the banter to continue.

The lady wasn't exactly what Karen would call "elderly", but she was definitely older, most likely in her sixties or early seventies. She was dressed very elegantly and spoke in a dignified, eloquent manner that gave the impression of wealth, and sophistication. Regardless of wealth or not, this woman was obviously well-educated and had a tasteful style about her. For whatever reason Karen was fascinated.

The friendly chat dissipated soon, however, once the woman (who introduced herself as Claire) noticed the necklace that Karen was wearing. It was a tiny rooster in 14 karat gold, with exceptional detail. Every feather, the beak, eyes, comb and wattle were carefully sculpted, and its legs were outstretched in a running pose. The plume of tail feathers followed like a banner. The elegant woman was intrigued by it, not only by the fine detail but by the fact that it seemed to be wearing a saddle. The very idea of a chicken wearing a saddle was just preposterous! Karen chuckled and explained that the pendant was a faithful replica of a real carousel figure, made in the early 20th century by the Allan Herschell company.

Karen then mentioned that she was one of the restorers of the local carousel, and how she couldn't wait for the finishing touches so it could finally open. At those words, the woman suddenly stiffened and her expression grew hard. Launching into a tirade eerily similar to that pastor at the Amazing Grace Church, she shook a scolding finger in Karen's face and said, "You know, that carousel has been a thorn in my side ever since work began on fixing it up! We don't need that awful old ugly thing, we have a perfectly fine swimming pool in this town that needs work badly! I learned to swim in that pool, it has historical value too, but no one sees that or cares. But that carousel...oh yeah, the town will pour millions into fixing that piece of junk up. Did you hear me, _millions_! They could have spent millions on the swimming pool instead of a carousel...it's _disgusting_!" With that, the woman huffed away to pay for her groceries.

Karen was left stunned. What in the world was wrong with some of the people here- first that pastor, and now this woman? Karen felt deflated. Worse than that, she felt humiliated and personally attacked by both of them, since she'd been a part of the whole process. She could feel the heat in her cheeks and knew they must be turning red. Up until recently most people she talked with were overwhelmingly positive about the carousel project, stating that the town was in need of some quality art and culture. Others just saw it as a fun venue to draw families. Both views were valid. Why would something that was meant to bring joy to people cause such hostility?

It was a question she had no answer to, at least not now. All she could do was get her groceries and get out of the store and back home. And then face the awful scenario of replaying this scene over and over again, regardless of how hard she would try to forget about it. She now had two negative experiences that she just couldn't get out of her mind.

(Author's Note- This chapter was inspired by a real life event. The elegant woman is real, and for the most part, so is her conversation with Karen. I used a bit of artistic license here, including her name, but most of it actually transpired between "Claire" and myself. But instead of waiting in a grocery store line, it happened while I was cashiering at my retail job. "Claire" was my customer and noticed a necklace I was wearing of a carousel sea-dragon (not a rooster) and that's how the whole thing started. I told her that I'm a volunteer operator on my city's beautiful restored antique carousel, and she flipped out on me just like in the scene above with Karen. The part about the swimming pool was 100% real life. Her words actually were, regarding my carousel, "It's _disgusting_!" It felt like a personal slap in the face, because not only do I operate the carousel, but I'm also involved with the annual maintenance and thorough cleaning of it as well, to help keep it looking beautiful, running smoothly and giving joy to all ages of people. But for some, a swimming pool is better I guess. *Shrugs* Well, this is my revenge, putting her in my story. LOL!)


	7. Chapter 7

Jim Nightshade, now an old man, stood agape at the figure before him. "Mr. Dark? Is it really you?" His mind was reeling. It had been over half a century ago. It can't possibly be him! First, he looked the same as Jim had remembered. No older, or for that matter no younger. Second, he had died! Jim had seen his dead body with his own eyes. There was no mistake. (Even when Jim had been apparently comatose, he'd actually been very aware of what was going on around him. He could actually see and hear everything- he just couldn't respond in any way.)

Not only that, but Mr. Dark had been a child when he died, having ridden backwards on the merry-go-round in an attempt to fool and trap Will's father. But Charles Halloway had been wise to that strange boy's tricks. Unless...unless the poor boy who died had really been someone else! But no. Jim overheard some of what the child had said to Mr. Halloway. There was no question that the boy was Mr. Dark. And no question that he'd died! But he now stood alive and well before Jim. How?!

Mr. Dark said nothing at first, just stared back at Jim with a slight smile. See, it happened just as he knew it would. Jim had returned of his own free will, and he was eager to work the magic again. Jim shifted uncomfortably, Mr. Dark's eyes boring into his soul. It almost seemed as though he were being read, being scrutinized from the inside out.

Finally, Mr. Dark spoke. "Of course it is I, Jim. Who else would I be?" To prove his point, Mr. Dark rolled up a sleeve and showed him the illustrations on his arm. As they danced and undulated Jim recoiled, for they were even more grotesque than he'd remembered. Of course, the Illustrated Man. Sensing Jim's discomfort, Mr. Dark tried a little humor. "Have you any more broken insects on you in need of repair? I do still offer that service. Free of charge, for an old friend!" It worked. Jim laughed. "No, no. I stopped carrying dead bugs in my pockets many years ago." They both laughed.

"Jim, I am very pleased that you have returned. I can really use your help." Jim was confused. "Help how? Look at me. I'm old! But you- you still look fairly young." Jim decided not to mention Mr. Dark's apparent death, as he had obviously somehow been mistaken. "Yet that was so long ago! How did you..." It took a moment, but finally dawned on him. "The merry-go-round! Of course, that is how you've kept your physical age in check."

Only it really wasn't the merry-go-round at all.

The most frightening thing that Jim didn't yet know about Mr. Dark was that he wasn't really Mr. Dark. Yet he was, in a way. The thing that was now impersonating the former carnival owner was actually an evil spirit, one that had possessed the real Mr. Dark and had given him an extraordinarily long life. It had inhabited and controlled the man for more than three hundred years! Needless to say in all that time it learned every aspect of the man's personality, physical appearance, intelligence, speaking voice and mannerisms, and could mimic them flawlessly. The real Mr. Dark had reaped what he'd sown and had gone on to his reward.

The entity impersonating Mr. Dark grinned at Jim's cleverness, but gave no answer. Jim had always been a very smart boy, and he was still smart as an aged man. Let Jim figure things out. If he wanted to believe that the carousel had been the secret to Mr. Dark's perpetual youth, then it would gladly play along. The truth was that a spirit never ages, and didn't need an enchanted carousel or a fountain of youth. It could take on any form it wanted to, it could make itself look like a newborn baby or an ancient centurion. Or even an animal, if the situation called for it.

After a long pause, "Mr. Dark" again spoke. "I've always wanted a partnership with you in co-owning and operating my carnival, Jim. You were- and still are- perfect for it. Much better than my pathetic former sidekick Mr. Cooger; and anyway, he's long dead and gone, out of the picture. I do believe it was fate that brought you back to me. I'm willing to forgive you for the past. It wasn't really your fault, what happened. It was that Will Halloway and his father."

At the mention of Will's name, Jim's eyes grew wide. "H-he was my best friend. Will, I mean."

"He was not- is not- your friend, Jim. He is still alive, and he has always been your mortal enemy."

"No, that's not...that _can't_ be right! We were like brothers once...blood brothers."

"Think about it, Jim. It was Will, and his librarian father who influenced him, who prevented you from partnering with me. It was Will's father who ultimately was responsible my..." Mr. Dark faltered, then recovered, "For the destruction of my carnival! _Our_ carnival!"

Jim struggled to remember. He couldn't recall anything exactly in regards to Charles Halloway actually destroying the carnival. He had vague recollections of a bad storm, a young boy being literally loved to death, and a smashed control box and mechanism on a merry-go-round. And the sensation of freedom. But Jim hadn't been satisfied with that freedom. No, he'd still wanted the carnival. He still wanted it now.

Wordlessly Mr. Dark turned and headed back toward the center of the machine. "Wait!" Jim cried, "Why didn't I get any younger when I rode backwards? It didn't work. Why not?"

Mr. Dark looked back at Jim from over his shoulder. "I gave it that power, Jim. It doesn't need that now, for I have bestowed a new power on it. One that I think you'll like."

"But I want to be young and strong again. What can I do as an old codger? What use am I?"

Mr. Dark didn't answer that, but smirked and stepped back into the center machinery and was out of view.

His voice from somewhere in there said, "Come back soon after we open up. It's almost ready, won't be long now. You won't need to do much of anything but observe and learn. You'll understand then." And with that, all was silent and still again. Mr. Dark had vanished.

Jim went back out of the carousel building, trembling but careful to lock it back up to avoid any suspicion.


	8. Chapter 8

The day the carousel opened to the public was overcast, with a slight chill in the air. Quite unusual for July in Green Town. Nevertheless, the weather had little effect on the crowd waiting outside the building in anticipation for the doors to open. There must have been hundreds of people, every age imaginable, milling about and trying to peek in the windows. Not that they could see anything but darkness inside, for part of the plan was to not have any lights on inside until opening. No sneak peeks here.

Quite literally, it seemed that the entire town was here. This may seem strange to most folks, all this fanfare over the opening of a carousel? But then you must remember that Green Town is not a very large town, and as such there really isn't a whole lot of interesting things going on there, even on the weekends. This event was big news, and it was the place to be if you were a resident. Many of the local businesses even shut their doors for a few hours so their owners and staff could be present.

However, there were at least two people noticeably absent from the gala: Claire, whom Karen had unfortunately met at the grocery store, and of course, the Rev. William Halloway. For obvious reasons, much of Rev. Halloway's congregation were absent as well, taking to heart his strong advice to stay away, but he would not be very happy to know there were still some who were present in spite of his scalding sermon on the subject.

There was a definite carnival atmosphere as the people milled about, friends meeting friends, children playing, chasing one another. Food trucks lined the parking area and street curbs, selling hot dogs and tacos. Clowns entertained impatient children and adults by goofing off. There was a face painter there as well, and soon girls with glittery butterflies and unicorns joined boys with dinosaurs and superhero themes. Everyone was talking at the same time, creating quite a din. The media was present as well, off to the side, filming the historic event to be shown later on the evening news for anyone not present. The crowd was getting restless, checking their watches, especially when they could see nothing going on inside.

Finally, at exactly eleven AM, Karen and her friend Darrel (who was another big part of the restoration team) opened the doors of the building. The people outside hesitated, a bit confused at the dark, cavernous structure. Many of them seemed almost afraid to enter. That is, until the lights came up and illuminated the grand carousel inside! There was an audible gasp, not singular but that of dozens of people simultaneously, followed by applause and cheers. No one seemed to notice or care that even with the lights on, it was all still so very dark and cheerless...

The happy throng of townsfolk entered the building and hustled to find their favorite mounts. The rides for the first hour were free, so there was no waiting to buy tickets or tokens. Nobody noticed nor paid the slightest attention to Jim Nightshade. Nobody had a reason to notice him, for most didn't know him personally, and he simply blended in with the others. Jim wanted to be there, for that "first ride", even though he had already had his first ride some weeks ago. This time, he bypassed the plum-dusk stallion in favor of the menacing dragon with its curling tongue. It was sheer luck that he got to it first, for there were at least five children in line behind him who all wanted that same reptilian steed. Even for an aging man, Jim could still move with a spring in his step when he wanted to.

Jim felt the familiar electric tingle as he touched the dragon. Other people also felt it as they first came in contact with their chosen mounts. Some let out a surprised yelp, but most just assumed it was a static shock, for it seemed to go away after that first surprise zap.

Mr. Dark's words to him came back into Jim's mind as he swung himself into the saddle. " _Observe and learn. Come back after we open._ _You'll like it.._." Jim looked around at the other riders. All ages. Babies. Toddlers. Teens. Parents. Grandparents. Single adults. Men. Women. Boys. Girls. Everyone...

...And all of them were smiling. Happy. Expecting. Shifting anxiously on their mounts, waiting for the fun to begin. Clutching shiny brass poles, touching gleaming glass eyes, petting smooth wooden noses, pulling stiff leather reins. Occasionally one rider would jump off and switch to another mount and wait some more. Anticipation.

And finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, the bell that signaled the start of the ride sounded.


	9. Chapter 9

He walked the perimeter, keeping watch amidst the crowd, looking much like a no-nonsense circus ringmaster that no one dare mess with. Unseen, unnoticed. Except for one. Jim Nightshade, seated on the dragon, noticed him right away. So he was here too. But then, of course he was. Why shouldn't he be? Hadn't he been the one who'd told Jim to be here on this day?

Jim wondered if Mr. Dark was visible to anyone else. After all, he seemed as solid and alive as every other person. Even so, nobody nearby paid the slightest attention to the sinister figure watching as the ride's maiden voyage began with a lurch.

Jim caught the look in Mr. Dark's eyes. Approval. Pride. Anticipation. But not one hint of mirth. No, the gaze was cold and steely, like a serpent about to strike its prey.

As the carousel started on its first official round, a cheer arose from the crowd. Then as it slowly gained speed, Jim soon lost sight of the Illustrated Man. When the ride came back around, he was gone! No longer standing there, where he'd been just moments before. Jim looked around, but it was as if he'd just vanished. But it really didn't matter anymore, once Jim began to observe the other riders.

He noticed something strange happening almost from the start. Older people, those in their thirties and up, seemed unaffected and perfectly normal. Laughing, talking, or simply enjoying the ride. But the younger ones- particularly children and teens- began to look "zoned out", like they were in some sort of trance, or under the influence of hard drugs. And then he saw him again- Mr. Dark, standing outside the ring, in the same place as before. Watching.

Mr. Dark noticed the young people too. He was observing them closely. A hint of a smile curled the corners of his evil lips. It was happening just as he had planned. Oh yes, it was. His beautiful new, young army was in training and would soon belong to him. His puppets. At his beck and call. With a cry of glee he grabbed hold of a passing pole and effortlessly swung himself onto the rotating platform.

It was still unclear whether anyone besides Jim could see him. No one seemed to notice, that was for sure. This puzzle cleared up when Mr. Dark came to each of the affected riders and whispered something into their ears. None of them responded, at least none of the older riders, the ones untouched by whatever form of black magic was going on here. They couldn't see him, didn't notice his slight frame slinking around between the plunging wooden animals, couldn't hear his words being poured into the ears of their children, grandchildren, younger brothers and sisters.

But those young people did. Oh, they didn't see him either, but they heard him all right. They heard the whispers. Their crazed eyes registered it and their brains were unable to refuse his persuasions.

The band organ played a raucous melody, and as the ride slowed Mr. Dark glanced over at Jim and winked, acknowledging his presence. Then he stepped off the edge of the platform facing the center of the carousel and quickly disappeared again into the interior machinery. Jim looked around at the other riders. All were dismounting, as they had been instructed to do whether they were going to ride more times or not. But the affected riders were still acting strange. Almost like living robots. They showed no emotion, no real awareness of their surroundings. Some, especially younger children, had to be led by the hand of their parents as if they could not move on their own. Yet no one else seemed to think anything was amiss.

Jim was the last to dismount. He hadn't realized how slow he was being until the next wave of riders came in, and a young boy about twelve hopped into the dragon's saddle almost before Jim was completely off of it. The boy let out a whoop, in triumph of getting his chosen mount before anyone else.

Once off the ride, Jim decided not to go again right now. Things were too strange. Some of the previous riders, all ages, were boarding again for the second ride. Others, like himself, waited outside the ring and just watched. The younger ones, all who had been on the first

ride, still acted completely zoned out. And the older ones, all of them, took no notice whatsoever.

And all that day, and all the next, and every day from that point on the same thing happened to any new riders within the same age group. The army was being trained.


	10. Chapter 10

In the days and weeks that followed, a strange phenomenon hit Green Town, literally. Reported crimes- everything from robbery, break-ins, shoplifting, and general vandalism and mischief rose to never-before-seen heights. Had Green Town been a large city, few would have noticed. But it was not. It was a small, quaint, all-American town where this sort of thing was just unheard of.

Few of the perps had been arrested, most were never caught. But it became very clear that the majority of the crimes were committed by youths under the age of 25, and mostly late at night or in the very early morning before the sun came up.

Karen noticed the unusual crime wave too, but only through the local media and not from any personal experience. She thought it was shocking of course, but never gave much thought to what might be the cause. Green Town was just getting too big for its britches, she figured, and was starting to attract the wrong element. It was a shame, but bound to happen eventually with so many new people moving in from the cities. Ironic how that worked. They came out of the bigger cities into places like this to get away from the noise, crime and grime, but then they bring it along with them anyway and are no better off- and then ruin it for the locals!

As time went on, more and more crimes were committed. It seemed now that almost all of the town's youth were acting up in one way or another. These were good kids, kids that had never gotten into any serious trouble before, now suddenly were angry, rebellious, and violent. Some may argue that it was just a normal part of growing up, that all young people went through phases like that. But this was not some "phase", and it was anything but normal.

Jim Nightshade noticed it too. And it didn't take him too long to realize the connection between the time that the carousel opened and when all this started happening. This couldn't be a coincidence. But how...and why?

It concerned him. He didn't like what was happening to his town. He needed answers, and knew of only one person who could give them. Jim waited until 11:30 that night, after all was quiet and not a soul was nearby. As he stood outside the grand building once again, he looked nervously up toward the top. No cameras. Not yet. That was bound to change soon, with all that was going on around here lately, but for now he gave a sigh of relief and found that a side door was conveniently unlocked, again. That was no coincidence either, he thought. No, he had been expected.

The door creaked as he slowly opened it. Why did they always have to do that? Even though he was alone out here, he felt very uncomfortable right now. He slipped inside quickly and closed the door behind him. The only light was coming from streetlights and pouring in through the windows near the top of the building. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. He crept toward the looming hulk of a machine before him and stepped up on the platform. That familiar swaying, the slight rocking of his shifting weight on the merry-go-round's deck made his stomach lurch a little.

"Mr. Dark? Are you here? I need to talk to you!" Jim whispered, but loudly.

The answer came immediately.

"Of course I'm here," the voice crooned from the inner machinery, "I never leave this place. Not yet. The time will come when I will leave for a while, perhaps even every day. But that time is not now. There is too much work to do presently."

The tall figure stepped out from the shadows of his hiding place at the center of the carousel, and over to where Jim stood. Just as Jim was about to say something, he heard some voices outside, and suddenly the same door he'd just come through moments ago opened with the same eerie creaking. Someone was coming!

Mr. Dark said nothing but motioned to Jim to follow him and hide behind one of the massive chariots. From that position, they could both watch the intruders without being seen. It was a group of three teenage boys. Jim bristled. Punks! They've come to vandalize the place, he thought. Well, as soon as they try anything, I'll jump out and run them off! He grabbed a wrench that just happened to be there, for use as a weapon if needed.

But the boys weren't here to cause trouble, even though they were a rough-looking bunch. Mr. Dark whispered in Jim's ear, "They're on our side, my friend. They're working for us! Just wait and see, watch and observe."

Each of the boys carried bundles of something, but Jim couldn't tell what they were. They silently walked over to a corner of the building and dropped what they had into a slot in a large wooden box that sat unnoticed under a table used for promotions. Then the boys left just as they had come, through that same door, and continued their noisy commotions as if nothing unusual had happened. Jim listened until their voices got further and further away. Finally, it was safe to come out. They were gone.

Mr. Dark smiled. "You can put that wrench back down, Jim. There is no need for a fight. Come, let's see what our friends have brought us, shall we?"

Jim looked doubtful, but set the heavy iron tool back where he'd found it and reluctantly followed the tall man to the wooden box. Mr. Dark bent down and picked it up and, reaching into some hidden pocket of his coat, produced a key which unlocked a door on the bottom of it. The contents spilled out onto the table, and when Jim got a good look, he gasped.


End file.
